A Small Stage
by Rosawyn
Summary: In which there is a small town, some teenagers, and drama. 'All the prayers Dean had been praying for the past fourteen years were finally being answered: Adam was safe, Adam was healthy, Adam was coming home.'


**A Small Stage**

**A/N: I sort of swore to myself that I'd never write a high-school AU of anything...and then I got this idea (which in all honestly is basically a high-school AU). But I promise it's not going to be like any high-school AU you've ever read, at least not like the ones you didn't like! lol**

**A few notes for the setting of this story... "Lawrence" here is a tiny town in an indeterminate North American location; not intended to be the same place as "Lawrence, Kansas." The time period was originally intended to be roughly late 1990s, but I could have the technology (cellphones, laptops) all screwy for that, so let's just pretend it all fits and makes sense; I mean, if I have it set in an indeterminate place, why not just set it in an indeterminate time as well?**

* * *

><p>"Cause a small town is like a small stage, for teenagers and their drama; instead of playing shows, we'll be showing plays, like 90210 without the Beverly Hills."<br>- Relient K, "Hoopes I Did It Again"

**Chapter 1: Past the Forgotten Edges of Nowhere**

Adam Winchester sighed as he stared out the window of the bus as it pulled into the station. Some tiny town called 'Lawrence' past the forgotten edges of nowhere. The air inside the bus was a stale mix of body odour and countless colognes, perfumes, and other various scented products intended to make their users smell more attractive. All the repugnant mixture had been making more attractive to Adam was the idea of fresh air when he could finally get off the bus. It had been a long, miserable trip.

As he stood and pulled his backpack from the overhead compartment, he wondered if his dad would be able to recognize him. They'd spoken briefly the previous day about when his bus was arriving, and he'd told the man he would be wearing a brown jacket with blue jeans and that he was skinny with short blonde hair. His father had described himself as 'burly' with dark greying hair and a beard. He had no memory of the man, having been a tiny baby when his mother had taken him and left. His voice on the phone had sounded gruff, but not cruel. Maybe his dad would bring his brother to meet him—or was it brothers? He had at least one; his mother had not been very clear—half-brothers, so not 'hers' and therefore not important, apparently. But she'd described his father as a 'religious wacko,' so he couldn't help but be a little hesitant—he was the last one to get off the bus.

A large broad-shouldered man with a black beard streaked with grey wearing a dark green army surplus jacket and blue jeans approached him. "Adam?" the man asked, and he recognized the voice from their brief telephone conversation.

"Yeah." He nodded and smiled a small awkward smile, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

He saw tears in the older man's eyes, but instead of the crushing hug he half-expected, his father offered his hand in greeting. "I'm John; your father. You can call me 'Dad' or…well, Sam and Dean usually just call me 'Sir.'"

Right. 'Sir.' That sure seemed to fit with the extreme right-wing picture Mom had always painted. Adam took the offered hand only to find his own smaller one engulfed in the warmth of both of John's. His father was smiling at him, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling warmly. "It's so good to have you back, Adam."

Adam didn't think he'd ever called anyone 'Sir' in his life, but since it seemed more natural than calling a perfect stranger 'Dad' and safer than risking angering a man who looked like he could bench-press a pickup by calling him 'John,' he swallowed and replied, "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He was turning fifteen in a month, and would be starting grade ten in the fall at whatever passed as a high school around here; and he was terrified—what sort of hell had his mother condemned him to?

It turned out Sam and Dean hadn't come to the post-office/general-goods store/gas-station that also posed as a bus stop in Lawrence. John led Adam to a large black car that looked to Adam like it had been made several decades ago. "Dean and Sam are both real excited to meet you," John was saying as he opened the car's door. "They're at home now—figured we might overwhelm you with too many people all at once or somethin'—anyway, it gives us a chance to talk a bit." John sat and turned the key in the ignition. "I don't know how much your mom told you…"

"She didn't tell me much," Adam admitted. He didn't want to say any of the things she _had_ told him; he was still hoping at least some of them weren't true. "She didn't even tell me…Sam and Dean's names." He sighed, studying his father's face out of the corner of his eye. The man looked…kind. Huge and dangerous, sure, but kind. Like he honestly cared what happened to someone other than himself. Adam blinked a couple of times. "I-uh, how old are they?"

"Sam is seventeen, and Dean is nineteen. Sam will be at school with you this fall; he's going into grade twelve." John was quiet for a minute. "Dean was five when your mom left; he remembers you—as a baby."

Adam had to swallow the lump in his throat. "I don't remember him." He shook his head and sighed. "Do I—will I have my own room?"

"Well, the house is a three-bedroom. Dean and Sam have already said they don't mind bunking together if you'd be more comfortable on your own—figured I'd let the three of you sort that all out between you. We've got enough beds, so it's just a matter of moving them all where they need to go."

"Do you—is there internet? Mom, well, she kept my laptop." He didn't think he'd ever forgive her for that. It had been _his_ laptop; a Christmas present from her!

"Sammy's got a laptop—he lets Dean use it; he'll let you use it too. I don't know a whole lot about computers and such, but I know Sammy can do email on it. We can get you your own if you need it for school." John sighed, sounding apologetic. "This was all such short notice…I don't even know—"

"I-I'm sorry," Adam said feeling more and more like he was going to bust into tears like a big baby.

"Now look Adam, I'm not mad at you; I'm just really glad to have you back, son, understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Adam gulped. It was a lie, really; he didn't understand how a man with two teenaged sons already could be 'glad' to have a third dumped on him out of the blue, completely disrupting his life. Maybe John just hadn't quite grasped the situation yet, and when it sunk in he'd resent Adam and want to send him away again. Adam stared out the window in silence for the rest of the trip.

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><p>Dean stood staring out the window at the empty driveway, practically quivering with excitement. Everything seemed so surreal. All the prayers he'd been praying for the past fourteen years were finally being answered: Adam was safe, Adam was healthy, Adam was coming home.<p>

The message Kate—he refused to think of his step-mother as 'Mom' since she had taken his baby brother and left their family broken—had left on their answering machine while they had been at church on Wednesday night continued to play over again in Dean's mind: "I've put Adam on a bus, and he'll be arriving in Lawrence on Friday; you should probably have someone there to meet him. He's no fun anymore, but then you were always a fan of everything that isn't fun, John. Oh, and here's his cell number so you can work out the details with him or whatever." She'd recited the numbers in a bored, detached voice and then hung up leaving no number with which to contact her—not that she had _ever_ given them any way to contact her. It had been ten past eleven at night, so John had thought it better to wait until morning to call. But the three of them had knelt and joined hands and prayed together, thanking a merciful and benevolent God for sending Adam back to them.

Dean didn't think he'd ever felt two days and a night pass so slowly, but today was Friday and Adam would be here any minute! He heard the Impala's familiar engine the same time he saw it round the corner. He let out a loud whoop. "They're here, Sammy; they're here!" running outside, his feet bare on the hot dusty ground. "Thank-you, Jesus," he whispered.

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><p>As the car slowed and came to a stop, Adam saw two young men—presumably his brothers—burst out the front door of the rather dilapidated-looking house. They appeared to be the about same height. The first had spiky light brown hair and wore stone-wash jeans with ripped knees and what appeared to be some sort of band t-shirt with the words "Petra" and "Beyond Belief" splashed across its front. He looked disturbingly like an older, more muscular, and generally better-looking version of himself. His feet were bare. The second had darker brown hair which hung in his eyes and wore sneakers with his blue jeans and a t-shirt proclaiming him a "Jesus Freak". So maybe Mom hadn't been lying about the 'religious wacko' thing. He felt a sudden stab of terror as every news story he'd ever seen about ultra-religious parents flashed through his mind in a dizzying torrent—if John were anything like those parents, he didn't know how he could survive this; he wasn't 'good' and didn't even know how to be.<p>

But the car was stopped, so he opened the door and stepped out, squinting at the sun. His whole body hurt from the three-day bus ride, but his head hurt the worst from forced lack of sleep the past two nights. And suddenly he was being tackle-hugged by the barefoot brother who apparently had none of his father's sense of restraint. "I, uh, hi," he said with a short nervous laugh.

"I'm Dean," Dean said, taking Adam by the shoulders and pulling back to look him in the face. "I really missed you, baby brother!" He saw tears on Dean's freckled cheeks, but his smile seemed to outshine the sun. "Oh, yeah, and this is Sammy." Dean gestured to the 'Jesus Freak' who stood nearby with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops.

"It's _Sam_," Sam grinned and rolled his eyes as he extended a hand in greeting. Adam noticed a black fabric wristband on Sam's wrist with "W.W.J.D?" in bold white lettering as he accepted the handshake, alongside a leather strip with several different coloured beads strung between two knots. Was this sort of jewellery what was 'in' here? And then he noticed that both Sam and Dean wore necklaces as well. Sam's was a dark leather strap with a cross made out of what looked like small _nails_, and Dean's was wire twisted into the rough shape of a…fish? Dean also wore a fabric wristband; his was red with the same strange letters in black, "W.W.J.D?"

"Well, come on inside, and we'll give you the tour," Dean was saying, snapping Adam's attention back to the here and now. "Sammy and I don't mind sharing a room if you want the other one to yourself; Sammy's room has bunk beds, but we have an extra cot we can set up in mine…"

_Bunk-beds_. For some reason Adam had always wished he could have a bunk-bed, but of course Mom had always said no—why would just one boy need two beds? But he wasn't 'just one boy' now; no, now he had _brothers_. "Which one—which bunk do you use?" he asked Sam.

"You can have which ever you want," Sam replied. "I've been using the bottom one, but like Dean said, I can move to the cot in Dean's room—"

"No, I—you don't need to move or anything; I would _love_ the top bunk." His grin was sincere.

* * *

><p>'The tour' was largely uneventful. Kitchen, living-room, bathroom, laundry room… 'Dad's study,' did make Adam raise an eyebrow—what sort of work did John do that required a 'study'? And what was a 'study,' anyway? The room looked an awful lot like an <em>office<em>, with a desk and bookshelves. On the wall opposite the desk, a wooden plaque that had the look of something hand-made bore the words, "Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee. – Psalm 119:11" and a similar plaque on the kitchen wall read, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. – Matthew 6:33" So, definite positive on the 'religious' thing, then. On a more encouraging note, the interior of the house looked a lot newer and cleaner than the outside.

"And this is my—well, this is the room with the bunk-beds," Sam said. It looked like a rather typical teenager's room, with bookshelves, a desk, and several band posters (for bands Adam had never heard of) covering most of the walls. A shelf above the desk held several academic trophies—Adam recognized them; not every teenager would know an academic trophy on sight, but he'd won a few himself at his old school. His eyes stung as he remembered that he'd never see them again. Maybe Mom would just throw them out? He had been so _proud_ of those…and she had seemed proud too, at the time, going on about how wonderful it was to have 'a son she could brag about.' On the desk sat a laptop, closed. Dad had said—but then, Adam really didn't feel at all like emailing anyone at the moment.

"We'll have to get you your own dresser," Sam was saying, "but I can move all my stuff into the bottom two drawers or whatever for now—is the rest of your stuff in the car?"

Adam blinked at Sam a couple of times before he realized what Sam was asking. "No, this is all I have." He indicated the backpack.

Sam's face fell. "Oh, I thought—I mean, we all thought you'd be staying."

From where he stood inside Sam's room, Adam couldn't see John who'd been quiet throughout the tour letting Dean and Sam do most of the talking. Dean stood in the doorway, eyes suddenly on Adam and expression concerned. "I will be; I am," Adam said. "Mom just—she wanted—she wouldn't let me—" And then he dropped his backpack at his feet and started crying; it was like a damn burst and he couldn't hold the tears back. His whole body was vibrating, his teeth clattering painfully.

"I'm sorry." Sam's voice floated through the haze of his tears, and he felt strong, gentle arms around him, eventually realizing he was sharing a 'group hug' with both of his brothers. And they weren't laughing at him or judging him for crying.

He heard Dean's voice whispering, "It's going to be all right, baby brother; we've got you now."

When the tears finally slowed, Sam spoke again, "Adam, can we—would you mind if we prayed with you?"

Adam's mind came up blank. Did he _mind_? He didn't even know what _praying with_ someone would entail. Would he be expected to kneel? Was he meant to _say_ anything in this prayer? "I don't mind."

"Dear, Heavenly Father," Sam began. Apparently there wasn't going to be any kneeling; it would seem Sam could pray while still standing in the group hug. "We come to you today in the name of your Son, asking that you help our brother Adam. Heal his heart. He's hurting right now, and we ask you to lift him up."

Sam paused, and Dean began speaking, "Jesus, please help my baby brother. He's had a lot change in his life, and he's lost some things that were important to him. Please help him—and help us to be a good family, help us help him in this transition."

Dean paused, and Sam spoke again, "For we know all things work together for good."

Then Dean and Sam spoke in unison, "In Jesus' name, Amen."

They broke the group hug then, pulling back to arm's length and smiling at him. "Th-thanks," Adam said. It had been a really extremely weird surreal experience to have the brothers he'd just met hug him and pray for him like that, but somehow he felt a lot better—calmer, more relaxed—after it was over and done. And also, he felt extremely tired, like he might fall asleep on his feet. "Um, what time is it?"

Dean looked at his wristwatch. "It's about 2pm."

"Would anyone mind if I took a nap?" Adam couldn't suppress a yawn.

"No, not at all!" Sam said.

"You must be exhausted from the trip," Dean added. "Don't worry, we'll wake you up for supper."

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><p>'Supper' turned out to be roast beef with carrots, onions, and potatoes roasted in the pan with the meat. "We eat a lot of venison and such, but we weren't sure what you like, so we decided to go for something more 'normal,'" Sam was saying. <em>This<em> was 'normal'? The table was set with actual non-disposable dishes, and a large pitcher of ice tea, with what looked like the freshly-picked leaves of some plant floating in it, sat in the middle of the table next to a loaf of bread (on a wooden breadboard with a bread-knife) and a dish of butter—it looked like the sort of meal families sat down to eat on movies and TV shows taking place in the 1950s. John _cooked_? The man just didn't look the type...

John sat at the head of the table (if a smallish oval kitchen table could have a 'head,' but the way John sat, he just seemed to make it the 'head of the table') with Dean on his right hand and Sam on his left. Adam took the seat opposite his father. "Let's pray," John said. It seemed prayer was a rather common thing in this household, and that at mealtimes it was done with everyone holding hands around the table. John bowed his head and began speaking, "Heavenly Father, we come before you today in thankful celebration. Not only in thanks for the food with which you have blessed us, but so much more for the son and brother you have returned to us. We ask that you bless this time we have together, continuing to watch over each of us. In the name of your own precious Son, Jesus, Amen."

Dean and Sam echoed their father's 'Amen' with sincerity.

The food was even more surprising once he started to eat, even the carrots and onions which Adam did not expect to like were delicious, having absorbed the flavour from the meat, and to a lesser extent from each other. "Would you like some bread?" Sam asked, slicing a piece from the crusty loaf.

"Sure, thanks." The bread Sam passed him was soft and fluffy with a sort of crunchy dryness to the crust. Adam doubted this bread had ever seen the inside of a plastic bag—or the inside of a grocery store.

He remembered a classmate once explaining the 'weird bread' his sandwich had been made with. "You guys have a bread machine?" he asked.

"Nope, but Ellen does," Dean replied, spreading butter generously on his own slice of bread. "Actually, I think Jo said she has _two_ bread machines—she makes the bread for us. And for most everybody else we know."

The bread, it turned out, was also delicious—the best bread he had ever eaten. Maybe it was just because he'd spent the last three days eating the junk food he could buy at the grungy little bus stops on his trip, but all of the food was _amazing_, and Adam found himself eating like he'd been starving.

"Since you didn't bring a lot of things with you," John was saying, "I expect we'll need to take you into town and do a bit of shopping. Also, I'm sure Sam and Dean have a few clothes they've grown out of that might fit you."

'Town'? As in, a real centre of civilization that had actual clothing stores? Maybe he'd passed through this 'town' on the bus ride here; he hadn't really been paying attention.

"With the way Sammy's been growing," Dean was saying through a grin, "I'll be wearing his hand-me-downs pretty soon. If the sucker doesn't _stop_ growing soon, he'll have to curl up in a ball to sleep because he'll be too long for the bed."

"Don't use that word at the table, Dean." John's voice was quiet, but filled with authority.

"Yes, Sir; sorry, Sir." Dean's face was immediately serious and he stared at his plate.

Adam was still trying to figure out what 'word' Dean had used was inappropriate for the dinner table. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach once again; it was only a matter of time before he made some huge mistake—or perhaps a series of smaller mistakes compounding upon each other—and proved to them all how worthless he was as a son and brother. Then, no doubt they'd stop thanking their 'God' for him and want to get rid of him like his mom had. He sighed and pushed a bit of beef gristle around his plate with his fork.

"Well," John said, pushing back his chair, "you boys better get ready if you don't want to be late for youth."

"What, no desert?" Dean said with mock-horror.

Sam laughed. "You can't possibly have room after everything you just ate!"

"I always have room!" Dean retorted, picking up his plate and glass as he stood from the table.

Sam put his own fork and knife on his plate and stood, drinking the last of his iced tea. "Glutton," he said softly.

"I heard that!" Dean snapped over his shoulder as he scrubbed his plate with a bright orange plastic dish-scrubber thing.

"I'll take care of the big stuff tonight," John said, "but you either wash your own dishes now or later; either way, you're still washing them."

"Yes, Sir." Sam laughed, turning his attention to Adam who was still sitting. "You'll come to youth with us, right?"

"Uh, sure—what's 'youth'?"

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><p><strong>AN: I really do think I need to apologize to Kate for the way I keep besmirching her character in AU stories. :/ But in this story, well, we're seeing her through the eyes of some naturally angsty hormonal teenagers who she did abandon and such, so it makes sense that she's pretty much a villain.**

**And this is also the longest chapter for a multi-chapter fic I have ever written. And I still don't feel like I've really even begun to introduce everyone, but at least you've got Dean, Sam, Adam, and John (with a tiny bit of Ellen and Jo). Obviously, if the guys go to 'youth' next chapter, you'll get to meet most of the rest of the 'important' people (pinkie-swear Cas and Gabe are both in this, along with many other familiar faces [and no OCs]). So if you liked this and would like to see where my odd little mind is going with it, throw and alert on it. As with anything I write, I can't make any promises about when it will be updated (I had thought Chapter 2 shouldn't be too much of a wait, but I had a horrible case of technical difficulties where at last 2000 words of Chapter 2 were completely lost forever, and it's going to take me a while to get all that back...), but I can promise I have plenty of ideas for the promised 'drama'.**


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